


Entanglements

by eilonwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilonwy/pseuds/eilonwy
Summary: Draco Malfoy, specialist in arcane spell work and a near-recluse since the end of the war, has been charged by the Ministry with investigating and putting a stop to a contagion that is gradually killing all life forms in the very old, magical forests of England.  When he does not succeed, Hermione Granger, ancient potions specialist at the Ministry, is sent to the Manor to work with him.  Will they find the answers they need in time? Will they find them at all?Written for Round 9 of the Dramione Couples Remix.  My chosen couple: Sarkan and Agnieszka, from the novelUprooted, by Naomi Novik.Couple History: A village on the outskirts of a vast and ancient wood is guarded by its resident wizard, a powerful and enigmatic mage called Sarkan, aka the Dragon.  Every ten years, in a time-honoured ritual, he chooses a young girl of eighteen to come and live with him in his castle and serve him.  After the ten years have passed, the girl is free to go.  This arrangement is in exchange for the Dragon’s protection of the village from dark, magical forces that inhabit the wood.  Now, spirited, intelligent, independent Agnieszka has reached the age of eighteen.  She's definitely not the Dragon's type.





	1. Chapter 1

_There is a sickness in Savernake Wood. The sickness grows and festers. It takes root and poisons the soil, then spreads its toxins through those roots into the stems and leaves of every plant, large and small, that grows under its dense canopy. Finally, the sickness takes the trees, moving up from the deep, ancient root systems through the trunks, spreading into the quietly beating hearts of the trees and then upwards, climbing and reaching, insinuating its poisonous tendrils around the healthy tissues until they sicken and begin to die away. At last, the crowns of the trees are breached. The leaves begin to shrivel and fall. Branches splinter off and litter the ground below, but the wood is not fit for fires in the hearth of a winter’s night. The smoke will kill a man in a day, a mouse in a matter of moments._

_There is a sickness in the wood._  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
Early August 2010  
  
  
The parchment lay on the desk, untouched, for several hours before its recipient chose to open it. Breaking the seal, he unrolled it, his frown deepening as he scanned its message.

 _Mr. Malfoy,_ it read. _It is most regrettable that your efforts, while commendable and most appreciated, have thus far failed to identify the cause or causes of the mysterious vegetation and wildlife die-offs in several of our most ancient forests, including Savernake Wood, which is relatively close to your family seat. Unfortunately, time is increasingly of the essence, and we have now reached the deadline by which you had assured my office that you would have the problem solved._

_Mr. Malfoy, I cannot stress vigorously enough the urgency of this situation. As you know, the trees in these forests are the repositories of the very oldest magic, and as such, they are particularly sensitive to the detrimental effects of outside forces. Environmental pollutants are a possibility, but there is no firm evidence of a causal connection. We must find a solution as soon as possible, before this becomes a calamity from which there is no longer any recovery._

_Therefore, although I realise that you would prefer to continue working alone, I have directed Hermione Granger to join you in the research you are conducting. Your greater expertise in ancient spell work will be complemented, I believe, by her very specific and extensive knowledge of herbs and potions and their uses in more arcane magicks. It is my hope that between the two of you, you will be able to reach a consensus and find a way to reverse the situation. I need not remind you that saving the ancient forests is ultimately essential to the health and wellbeing of the entire wizarding community in Britain._

_Ms. Granger will be arriving in Wiltshire this evening. Please make her welcome. As before, I will expect to receive weekly progress reports.”_ The letter closed with the ominous _“I am relying on the two of you. Do not fail me.”_

It was signed with the Minister of Magic’s customary flourish. Muttering to himself, Draco Malfoy tossed the parchment to the desk and threw himself onto a nearby sofa facing the hearth, where a fire sparked and crackled cheerfully. Flickering shadows danced along the walls and ceiling of the dimly lit room, but he didn’t notice. Instead, he stared morosely at nothing in particular, his thoughts trained entirely on a decidedly gloomy inner landscape.

He'd been quite content answering to no-one but himself, and of course, the Minister. The last thing he wanted was a partner. And bugger it all, why Granger, of all people? Surely Shacklebolt could have found someone less contentious and bossy, someone who wouldn’t waltz into his house – _his_ house! – as if she owned it, ready to tell him exactly what needed doing and precisely how to do it. True, he hadn’t seen her in years, but in his experience, people didn’t change, not really. She was bound to be the same as he remembered her, only older. 

He snorted softly. Probably a frizzy-haired spinster by now, plain and colourless and all about work. No doubt she’d be dragging along a giant book of potions dating back at least to the Middle Ages if not before, and another, an herbal compendium just as heavy and dusty and dry. As dried up as its owner, no doubt. 

His wandering thoughts had already begun imagining the nondescript, brown frock she’d be wearing beneath a shapeless cardigan, when the clock on the mantel struck seven. Startled, he sat up and shook his head. 

Just then, the heavy, brass knocker on the front door sounded. Draco waited. Tibby would answer, of course. He strained to hear as the house-elf made his way to the entrance hall and pulled open the ponderous, old door with a creak.

There was some muffled conversation, and he could hear Granger’s voice, albeit faintly. The footsteps came closer and then the library door opened.

Tibby cleared his throat with a deferential, little nod. “Master Draco, you has a visitor.”

Draco had already risen from the sofa and now stood behind it, arms folded. She was here and there was no pretending otherwise or wishing her away.

“Hello, Malfoy.”

The voice hadn’t changed terribly much. He’d recognise it anywhere. But Merlin’s beard, the rest of her …

Staring was rude and a sign of bad breeding, so Draco quickly dragged his gaze away from her face, which was probably a mistake. It fell next on her chest, which was not at all the way he remembered it at school. It didn’t help that she was not wearing the baggy, brown frock his imagination had conjured. Instead, there was a crisp, white blouse, the top four buttons open at the throat, a lightweight, beige blazer, and faded, well-fitting jeans. No sensible shoes either, but a pair of stylish, leather ballet flats. And every bit of exposed skin glowed with health and the summer sun.

“Cat got your tongue, then?” Hermione arched an eyebrow, faintly amused, and set down her suitcase and purse. “Nice to see you too, after all these years.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you just yet.” The lie was meant to cover his surprise as he continued to steal surreptitious glances at his guest and soon-to-be research partner. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

She laughed again and a slim hand darted up to pat at her hair, smooth and shining and pulled back into an attractive messy bun. “Master of tact, aren’t you? You haven’t changed, I see.” 

She paused, giving him a carefully appraising glance that took in as much as his had done.

“At least not your manners, anyway. Look, Malfoy…” Her tone was strictly business now. “Let’s just establish the fact, once and for all, that we are no longer kids at school. We’re thirty years old, for gods’ sake, not twelve. And we’ve a job to do. A very serious job. I am well aware that you don’t want me here, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t particularly want to be here either. But I _do_ want to solve this mystery and get this contagion under control. Better yet, eradicate it completely. I think together, we can do that much anyway. We don’t have to be friends. In fact, it’s probably better if we’re not.”

Despite himself, Draco was intrigued. Frankly, he was also a bit irritated that she’d voiced what he’d planned to say before he’d had a chance to get it out. Typical Granger, nipping in ahead of him and stealing his thunder.

He cracked a stiff, little smile. “Indeed. My sentiments precisely.” 

Glancing at the clock on the mantel, he beckoned to the little house-elf, who had waited at a respectful distance near the door. “Tibby, please show Miss Granger to her room.” Once again, he regarded Hermione with what he hoped was a dispassionate eye. It wouldn’t do to show her that she’d affected him in any way. “Dinner will be promptly at half seven. You may do as you please until then.”

Turning away, he busied himself with a book he’d pulled from one of the vast, floor-to-ceiling shelves that filled the old library, hoping she’d take his rather obvious hint. She did. When he turned back again, she and her luggage were gone and the room had settled back again into deep, dusty silence. Even the fire in the hearth had gone down to quietly glowing embers. 

Now what?  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
Dinner turned out, at least initially, to be something of an anti-climax. Half past seven rolled around, and Draco found himself at the table alone, the other place setting remaining persistently unattended as the minutes ticked slowly by. Eventually, Tibby gave his master’s sleeve a tentative tug.

“Shall Tibby take away Miss Granger’s plate, Sir?”

Draco nodded and then shook his head, waving a hand impatiently. “Yes. Er… no. Not yet. Go and see if she still intends to come down.” 

Tibby reappeared several minutes later. “Pardon me, Master Draco. Miss Granger says she wishes to take her meal in her room.”

Oh, was that so? Bad enough, being forced to endure her company as his houseguest, and she didn’t even have the decency to make an appearance at the dinner table? What did she think this was, a hotel with room service? Was everyone to be at her beck and call?

When Draco knocked on her door, it resounded sharply on the venerable old oak.

“I expect you to join me downstairs,” he said shortly, through the closed door. “We have things to discuss.” Turning on his heel, he marched back down the stairs. 

He’d been sitting for several minutes, toying with his soup, when she appeared in the doorway. She’d had a bath, he realised, because she was now wearing a colourful dressing gown and slippers, and her hair was damp and curling. The scent of vanilla filled his nostrils.

“My apologies, Malfoy,” she said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’d just got out of the bath, you see, and I thought… well, it was presumptuous of me. This isn’t a hotel, after all. Please excuse my thoughtlessness.”

“Yeah, well, it’s only Tibby now, and he’s got rather a lot to attend to already,” Draco muttered gruffly. 

“Where are your parents, then?” She regarded him curiously as she spooned up a first taste of the soup. 

The question came as a surprise, though it really should not have done, since he couldn’t have expected her to know anything about his parents’ movements.

“They’re travelling at present,” he told her. “They’ll be gone for quite some time, probably until at least Samhain.”

“That’s nearly three months from now. So … it’s just you and me, then, and Tibby?”

“Yes, and Dodie, who does the actual cooking. Tibby’s utter crap in the kitchen.” He laughed briefly despite himself and she joined him, until an awkward, self-conscious silence set in once again.

They ate in silence until the coffee and a plate of sweets were served. At last, Draco set down his cup, lacing his fingers together on the table.

“Right. Let me fill you in on the situation.” He paused and glanced at Hermione, who sat forward now, alert and focused.

“Listening,” she murmured. “Go on.”

“As no doubt you already know, the closest affected forest to us is Savernake Wood. It’s about thirty-five miles from here. So I’ve made it my test subject. What is happening at Savernake is happening in forests all over the country. The New Forest is very badly affected; it’s nearly as critical as Savernake. In fact, I could easily name fifteen forests that are in a very bad way.”

“And…” Hermione leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “You’ve seen identical symptoms in all of them? They mirror what you’ve observed at Savernake?” 

“Overwhelmingly, yes.”

“I assume you’ve taken samples from a variety of trees and other vegetation?”

He nodded. “ I have. The trees are primarily oaks and beeches of different varieties, many of them quite ancient. “Over the centuries, they’ve been hosts to various lichens, fungi, and mosses, used…”

“… in some pretty powerful spells and potions. Yes.” Hermione nodded. “I know.”

Ah. Draco glanced at her, with a grim smile. “Well, then. You’re probably familiar with many of them. But now these lichens are diseased, and the fungi and mosses are declining almost as fast. It won’t be long before the trees themselves begin to decay. And it’s not just the trees. Much of the ground cover is similarly affected.”

“Which means that all the wildlife on the forest floor are at risk as well.” Hermione’s frown deepened, a faint worry line appearing between her eyes. “So Shacklebolt thinks that I might be able to shed some light on all this?”

“Apparently.” Eyes narrowed, Draco searched her face with a feeling akin to the beginnings of hope liberally dosed with doubt, scepticism, and a knot of lingering resentment. “Well? Can you?”

She sighed deeply, leaning back in her chair, eyes sombre. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know. I need to think. A lot. And do some reading. And obviously, we’ll need to talk a great deal more. First, I’ll want to see the samples you’ve collected and find out more about the tests you’ve already performed on them.” She stood then, and stretched. Dinner and their subsequent conversation had stretched to nearly three hours and it was clear that Hermione was fading fast.

On the contrary, Draco found himself wide awake and curiously energised. Nodding absently as she wished him a good night and disappeared up the wide staircase, he wandered out through the open French doors onto the small stone terrace and inhaled deeply. The night air was fresh and sweet. 

Maybe Granger could make a difference after all. He hadn’t wanted to believe that she could. He hadn’t wanted to consider that on his own, he might not find the answers that the forests so desperately needed. But she’d listened and had promised nothing more than an honest effort after learning all she possibly could. Unexpectedly, the faint glimmerings of relief began to take root. He would never tell Granger this, of course, but the weight that had felt like a boulder between his shoulders had just lifted ever so slightly, and for the first time in weeks, breathing suddenly felt a bit easier. Perhaps sleep would come more easily as well, after months of fretful insomnia. He decided to follow her example and try.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning dawned a forbidding iron-grey, the sky blanketed in heavy clouds. There was a decided chill in the air. 

Sleep had come after all, hours of it, but Draco awoke feeling less than well rested. Pulling on a flannel dressing gown over his pyjama trousers, he padded downstairs in his bare feet, expecting he’d be alone in the dining room at this early hour. A solitary cup of coffee and some quiet were all he desired at the moment.

The coffee was there, hot and fragrant in a large silver pot on the sideboard, but that wasn’t all. In addition, there were scones and slices of buttered toast, jams, and steaming platters of scrambled eggs, baked beans, sausage, and bacon. It was the full, traditional English breakfast, and there was enough to feed two armies. Tibby lurked half out of sight, looking quite pleased with himself, Draco noted sourly.

Hermione sat at the far end of the table, looking rather small and far away. But her enjoyment of the meal in front of her was evident. Energetically tucking into a generous plate of food, she turned the pages of a book as she ate and took sips of coffee. She was so absorbed that she hadn’t even glanced up when Draco entered the room.

He cleared his throat.

Now her head snapped up and she smiled at him brightly. “Oh! Well, it’s about time, Malfoy. The day’s half over already. I’ve been up since six.”

 _Have you now, Miss Clever Clogs. Far too cheerful for so early in the morning._ Pursing his lips, Draco turned his attention to the coffee pot. This was the Granger he’d expected: still the know-it-all, still bossy, and still just as infuriatingly gung-ho.

“Look,” he began. “If we’re going to get on and actually accomplish anything…”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I really should have waited for you, but I just couldn’t. There’s so much to do, and really, the situation is already critical. There’s no time to waste. And I thought, see, that a really good breakfast would make all the difference. I hope it’s all right. Tibby didn’t seem to mind.” She sighed happily. “I love a hearty breakfast, don’t you?”

“No,” Draco muttered. “I do not. Coffee and toast are quite sufficient for me. As Tibby well knows,” he added sharply, glancing in the direction where he’d spotted the house-elf a moment earlier. Chagrined, Tibby shrank back into the shadows and disappeared. 

“Oh.” Hermione frowned. “Well, it won’t go to waste, will it. Sit down and try some of these eggs. They’re marvellous.” She paused, taking a longer look at him, and frowned. “Didn’t you sleep? You don’t look very well.”

“Not much,” he admitted, his back to her as he helped himself to coffee and a slice of toast. “Haven’t slept decently in weeks, if you must know.”

“Well.” There was that annoyingly perky tone again. “That’s about to change. I’ll wager we’ll make some real progress today. It seems to me the first thing we need to do is work out exactly what the disease is that’s attacking the mosses and lichens. Could it be something autoimmune? I wonder…”

“Something self-perpetuating…” Draco mused aloud, half to himself, but Hermione was listening keenly. “Something that is perhaps the product of a curse?” He glanced up sharply at Hermione, his annoyance momentarily forgotten. “What do you reckon, Granger? Does that make any sort of sense?”

Hermione nodded, eyes bright. “It makes a good deal of sense, actually. And maybe it needed a trigger of some sort to get it going on its destructive path. Assuming we’re on the right track, what sort of trigger could have started all this, I wonder? And who cast the original curse?”

“Whoa. Getting a bit ahead of ourselves with all these assumptions, aren’t we? We start with isolating the disorder and figure out its properties. We’ll need to have another look at the samples. I’ll have another look, that is. You haven’t seen them yet. Hang on, then!” Draco added, irritation returning as Hermione jumped up from her chair. “Let a bloke finish his toast first, yeah?”

 _So much for big breakfasts._ Granger was chomping at the bit, the meal forgotten in her excitement. It seemed there was no fighting it. Hastily shoving the last bite into his mouth, he chased it down with a final gulp of coffee and stood, pushing his chair back from the table. “Right,” he said briskly. “Let’s get to work.”  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
The depths of Malfoy Manor were chilly and dank. Not exactly a welcoming environment, Hermione decided, as they made their way through the labyrinthine corridors to Draco’s workroom. A week had passed since that initial conversation over breakfast. Every morning, like clockwork, they had retraced the path down the winding stone steps that led to the large room where Draco customarily worked. Every day, for hours, they had examined and tested the samples he had collected from Savernake Wood. So far, there had been nothing definitive from all their labours.

Hermione remained optimistic. “Surely, we’ll have a breakthrough soon,” she declared stoutly. “I can feel it.”

Draco slanted a sceptical glance in her direction. “Your faith in us is heartening, Granger. I wish I could say I felt the same. And,” he hastened to add, as she opened her mouth to reply, “don’t give me any rubbish about my attitude being key to our success. That’s bollocks and you know it. If we do manage to work out what’s poisoning the trees – and that’s a huge ‘if’ – it’ll be down to luck and nothing else. We've already tried just about everything.”

It was true. They’d pored over countless ancient spell books and potions compendiums, all of them encyclopaedic in size and scope, but so far, the investigation was no further along. 

Now they sat opposite each other at the long wooden table in the workroom, gloom in the air. The silence was broken only by the sound of Hermione tapping the end of her quill against the table. At last, Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Bloody hell! Must you do that?”

She jerked her hand away, laying her quill on the table. “Sorry, Malfoy,” she told him stiffly. “I was just thinking.”

“Well? If I must put up with that infernal noise, have you come up with anything, at least?” The question was a clear challenge. 

“Maybe,” she murmured. “I’m thinking that maybe we should consider tasting a bit of each sample – you know, see what eating them will actually do to us. Like what Alice did when she went down the rabbit hole.”

Draco snorted incredulously, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Oh, now there’s an idea! And as we’ve no antidote, what happens if one or both of us wind up dead, eh? Then what? You’ve really outdone yourself with that one! And who’s Alice?” 

“Book character. Obviously, it would be a controlled experiment!” Hermione snapped, bristling. “I’m willing to go first.”

“Big of you,” he muttered. “What exactly is your rationale for doing this? We’re not trees. How would this even be valid?”

“Well,” she replied, warming to the subject, “I thought that if we could track the response to –”

Draco held up a hand. “Stop. I’ve a better idea. What you’re proposing is far too risky. We need to go to Savernake and document what’s actually happening to the trees right now. It’s been a couple of weeks since I was last there. Things can change rapidly. Nothing’s gelled here anyway, and we’ve already covered everything from a traditional research approach and got nowhere. We’ve nothing to lose.”

He had a point. Hermione nodded and rose from her chair. “Right, then. Let’s get going.”

Travel was by Apparition. They found themselves just on the outskirts of Savernake Wood, looking into the dark and rather forbidding forest from the vantage point of a sun-filled meadow. Truth to tell, neither of them especially relished leaving the bright, flower-filled expanse and entering the heavy, troubled darkness that hung over the wood. But it had to be done.

Almost immediately, it was evident that something was very wrong. Draco glanced over at Hermione as they walked. He could feel her tense as they made their way deeper into the wood. He knew exactly what she was feeling. This thing – a premonition or whatever it was – had hit him in just the same troubling way every time he’d been there before. It was something very nearly palpable, like a wall of hatred and misery coming to draw anything healthy in and cause it to sicken.

Deeper into the wood they went, carefully picking their way through the tangled masses of overgrown flora covering the forest floor. What they could see of the sky through the treetops was an unhealthy yellow/green, as if a storm were imminent. There was an oppressive heaviness in the air as well, making simple breathing difficult. The stillness was preternatural. Nothing moved. No birds sang. Nothing scurried through the underbrush, rustling the foliage. 

Savernake Wood was fighting for its life.

Knowing that did not prepare them for what they were about to see, however. 

They had been walking in silence for a little while, but suddenly, Hermione stopped short and stared at a huge, old oak a few yards ahead. With a girth that would have been the equal of at least eight grown men and a root system just as massive, it stood as a tangible reminder of the very great age of the wood, and of its ancient and proud lineage. 

But now, this glorious old tree was dying. Covered in mosses and fungi that had turned a putrid brown colour, its branches had begun breaking off at an alarming rate. They littered the ground at the base of the tree, piling on top of each other like caches of rotting firewood, so that much of its once-glorious canopy had largely disappeared. The tree looked deeply exhausted and depleted, as if all its defensive reserves had been used up and there was nothing left. Looking to the left and right, they now saw more trees in exactly the same deplorable condition. Draco gazed at the devastation in stunned silence.

“Gods,” Hermione breathed after a moment, her eyes wide. “What…?” 

“That’s what we need to find out,” Draco replied grimly. “Hang on, Granger. Don’t go any closer,” he warned, as she took a step towards the tree. “Not just yet, anyway. It’s not safe.”

Stopping in her tracks, Hermione turned back, nonplussed. “We’ll need to get samples from this tree, though. This stuff looks very different to what we’ve been studying.”

He nodded. “It is. Things have got so much worse even since I was last here, and that was only –”

“Two weeks ago. Yes. You told me,” she murmured. “Merlin, all this … it’s …” She swept her arm in an arc, taking in the splintered tree branches covering the ground before them. 

Draco shook his head in frank disbelief. “It’s not the same place at all. Safe to say that the lichens and mosses we’ve been examining gave us much different information than samples of this stuff will.” He glanced down and then dropped into a crouch. Carefully, he reached with a gloved hand for something partially hidden in the brush and rotting leaves.

“Look,” he said quietly and held open his hand.

In his palm was a tiny bird. It lay on its back, its limbs stiffened in death, its eyes open and vacant. Both knew without saying so that there were bound to be more deaths just like that one, and it wouldn’t take much effort to find the evidence.

“No wonder we haven’t managed to get anywhere,” he remarked. “Apparently, this thing is evolving far more rapidly than we’d realised. It’s far more dangerous now than it was even a few days ago.” 

The revelation was chilling. Quickly, carefully, and in near silence, they gathered samples of affected wildlife and vegetation for analysis, as many varieties as they could find, using spell work to deposit them into sacks they’d brought for that purpose. Neither of them said as much, but there was a palpable sense of relief when they reached the sunlit meadow once again, with the manor house in sight.  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
Several days later  
  
  
“Master Draco, sir. Pardon. You has a parcel, sir. From the Ministry.”

Tibby stood waiting patiently in the entrance to the dining room until Draco motioned him to come closer. He carried a rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper, with definite beak holes at one end. One of the larger Ministry owls had delivered it, apparently. 

“Yes, thank you, Tibby. You may go,” Draco muttered absently, pulling at the wrapping. He shook its contents out onto the table and stared.

Hermione jumped up from her seat and hurried over to see what had her research partner so dumbfounded.

It was a Muggle newspaper, The London Times, with an article on the front page that demanded attention. And just to be sure they didn’t miss it, somebody – it had to have been Shacklebolt – had circled it in red. The title was shocking: “Unexplained Wildlife Deaths in Nation’s Woodlands on the Rise.”

“Merlin,” Hermione whispered, and then the words died in her throat. 

Draco expelled a pent-up breath. The sound of it was harsh in the quiet of the dining room. “We thought it was only affecting the forests we know. But of course it would have spread far beyond that by now. Shit. How could it not?” He snatched up the article and began scanning its contents rapidly. “It says here… birds, bats, butterflies… insects… they’re finding first evidence of a die-off but they can’t work out the cause.”

“Does the article talk about trees as well? Surely, they must realise that everything –” Hermione cut in impatiently.

Draco quickly checked the remainder of the article. “No, not specifically. It does say that some scientists are examining soil and water samples, so they must know that it’s poisoning vegetation as well, but so far, they’ve not been able to pinpoint a specific cause for what’s happening.” He looked up at Hermione, his mouth a tight, tense line. “It’s far more widespread now.”

She gazed back at him gravely, eyes large. “Malfoy, you do understand what this means, don’t you? It’s only the start. This thing is like a house of cards. If insects and birds and very small mammals are beginning to be affected now, then the larger animals that prey on them will be next, and on and on, down the line. We’ve got to figure out what the genesis of all this was, or…”

“Or we’ll never be able to stop it.” Draco fixed her with a sombre gaze. “It’ll be humans in the end.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next days were a feverish round of experiments ending in persistent failures. None of the spells, even those that were most antiquated, were helpful in identifying the root cause of the contagion. Whatever it was, it appeared to resist even the most potent magic, either to identify it or to eradicate it.

“What’s really frustrating,” Hermione muttered one morning, as they worked, “is that this plague takes so many forms. I mean, we see evidence of it in plants, water, soil, insects, birds, and field mice. It’s just a matter of time before corpses of squirrels, rabbits, badgers, voles, and foxes begin turning up. And nothing reacts the way we’d expect.”

She was right, and Draco knew it. He nodded glumly, setting down his wand and raking a hand agitatedly through his hair.

“Any ideas? I thought surely you’d have at least ten brilliant ones by now.” His voice and his words were sour, but suddenly, he couldn’t seem to help himself. None of this was going right. None of it was going his way in the least, and frustration had long since turned to irritation that persisted, like an itchy, inflamed rash that refused to go away. He’d accepted her help against his better judgment, certainly against his wishes, though secretly, he’d hoped that just maybe she might come up with something. He certainly hadn’t managed it on his own. But she’d failed as well. They’d both failed. So it was back to square one, and at this point, she was no better than an annoying burr in his side. If she couldn’t solve this thing, then he’d just as soon she made herself scarce.

His tone took Hermione by surprise, though, and her head snapped up. “Gosh, thanks for the vote of confidence, Malfoy,” she remarked drily, an eyebrow quirked. “Nice to know that some things don’t ever really change, no matter what. Look,” she told him, her voice suddenly steely. “I’m here to do a job, whether you like it or not. I had thought we were working well together. I guess I was mistaken. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Shacklebolt won’t care if we’ve got on or if we’ve torn each other’s hair out, as long as we come up with some answers. So let’s get on with it, shall we? Preferably without the sarcasm.”

“Sorry” was on his lips, but he bit the word back. He’d have mostly meant it, he realised. And that in itself was disturbing. Fuck, why couldn’t things have stayed as simple as they’d been when he was growing up? Black was black and white was white. There were no shades of grey, no questions to shake up long-held beliefs. People like Granger were lower than dirt, and it was his obligation as a pureblood to make sure everyone else remembered that. But they _hadn’t_. And if he were being totally honest with himself, neither had he. And he didn’t like that his mind had been changed. These new thoughts and attitudes he found himself having didn’t sit well with the world as he’d always known it, and yet, there they were, thrusting up against all the old ideas and rendering them increasingly obsolete. Ridiculous even. They’d certainly been disproven. Granger herself had done a bang-up job with that. One couldn’t look at her, understand what she’d accomplished as a student, during the war, and afterwards, and not recognise her brilliance and talent, magical and otherwise. Not to mention… 

Shaking his head, Draco turned away and attempted to focus on the specimen he’d been testing. But her face was still in his head and refused to leave. From where he sat, he had a clear view of her as she turned the pages of a very large book. The light from the window slanted in, hitting her face and illuminating smooth, tanned skin and a cluster of tiny sun freckles on the bridge of her nose and her cheeks; her hair, pulled back from her face into a French braid, was a rich, golden brown in the sunlight and not at all frizzy. Shorter locks curled softly, framing her face. Absently, she played with one of the curls, twisting it round a finger and then letting it unravel as she concentrated.

Which was more than he was doing. What the hell had _that_ been about? It wasn’t like him to woolgather that way. Jerking his eyes away from Hermione, he stared at what was before him, willing his focus to remain on the dead grasshopper. 

Eventually, he cleared his throat, slanting a quick look at her to gauge her mood. She looked up expectantly but said nothing. 

“Right,” he began, treading more carefully this time. “Anything new?”

Hermione sat back and folded her arms, a triumphant, little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I suppose I might have something to share.”

_Bloody hell, woman, do you or don’t you? _Forcibly swallowing his impatience, he plastered a neutral expression on his face and waited.__

__“It appears,” she continued more seriously now, “that nearly every specimen I’ve tested has been exposed to a common substance. There are clear traces of it in the water and in the soil. I found it in the tissues of the small animals as well. And it’s definitely in the samples of fungi, mosses, and lichens, and in the tree bark. It’s most concentrated there, actually.”_ _

__“Well? What is this substance? Something we’ve seen before?” Excitement laced with fear mounted in him now. They were on the edge of something big. He could feel it._ _

__“Well, yes. And no. It’s not something _we’ve_ seen. It’s something _I’ve_ seen. Or rather, it's something I’ve heard about. Draco,” she said, her voice low and urgent, “it’s a very powerful Muggle potion, most likely Glyphosate. Something they use to kill plants and trees.”_ _

__Draco sat back, dumbfounded. “Bollocks. I don’t believe it. Why the hell would they want to do that? Not even Muggles are that blinkered.”_ _

__Hermione pulled her chair a bit closer and leaned in, lacing her fingers together. “It’s commonly used in massive amounts on farms, for instance, to keep weeds down and to eradicate certain invasive plants that are not wanted. Gardeners use it too. It’s very potent and long lasting, and what's worse, if it's what I think it is, this is a non-specific herbicide, which means that it kills whatever it touches. And the effect on our old-growth forests is apparently far more devastating than on non-magical ones.”_ _

__He shrugged. “No great surprise there. Our trees – everything that lives in our woods, really – is far older and much more sensitive. But how did this happen in the first place?”_ _

__“I’ve just been reading about it,” she told him. “There are several ways. The most common for large forested areas is by what’s called ‘herbicide drift.’ All you need is enough wind to move the toxin from one area to another, and then it settles there and poisons everything. Another way it’s spread is in the air. If the weather is very warm, it evaporates and vaporises. That’s known as ‘volatility.’ It can also travel through the soil and be absorbed by the root systems of trees and other plants. I’m pretty sure that all three methods were responsible for what’s happened in Savernake. There was a special addendum to one of the chapters in my herbal encyclopaedia that talked about Muggle substances and their possible effects on what we grow and how to protect it. Very recent addition, because the problem has grown more critical in the last several years.”_ _

__“Hell. This is not what I was expecting you to tell me. If this is true, we’ll have to inform the Minister immediately. But…” He scrutinised her face carefully. “Are you certain? How do you know?”_ _

__Hermione smiled at him sadly. “Here’s where you can thank my Muggle upbringing, I'm afraid. I move between both worlds. I do still read Muggle books and newspapers and watch their telly once in a while. I hear their news broadcasts from time to time, and I’m aware of certain issues that are current concerns. The environment, specifically the use of certain very powerful chemical herbicides and pesticides, is a very hot topic these days. And for good reason. It’s not popular politically to support a halt to chemical use. The companies that make them are putting a lot of pressure on the government. Big agriculture is doing the same. They want the chemicals. People trying to protect the environment and wildlife are on the opposite side.”_ _

__“Yes. I see. But you still haven’t explained how you knew.”_ _

__“Well,” she replied, “a bit of detective work for starters. Virtually everything we observed, in the samples from the trees and other vegetation, was a classic sign of herbicide poisoning. I don't know how I didn't see it sooner, except... well... I suppose I'd been focusing strictly on poisons with magical pathologies. Once I considered other possibilities, it wasn't difficult to find out where and when spraying had most recently been done in this area. Same procedure for the New Forest, and all the others. The information is available if you know where to look. I also devised a potion to test for the presence of the chemical. Because the concentration was that much stronger in our forests, the insects and birds and small mammals were affected far more quickly than they might have been otherwise.”_ _

__“And yet, the reports from the Muggle press are that in their forests, too, the wildlife is affected. Clearly, they are catching up fast.” Grimly, Draco stood and stretched, yet he still felt the weight of this very unwelcome news sitting squarely between his shoulders._ _

__And there was something else as well, a small tic that kept gnawing at him and stopping him fully accepting what Hermione had said. Something didn’t add up. While it was certainly true that the really old forests, the ones most precious to the wizarding community as repositories of the oldest magicks, would be particularly susceptible to such toxins, there was also a reason they had lasted this long and survived other such onslaughts before. Something else must have been a factor, to bring these ancient woodlands so close to death._ _

___Something..._ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

Tibby was morose. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of his master, who was holed up in his room, in five days. Miss Granger was dining alone now, for virtually every meal. She looked rather small and lonely, sitting at one end of that very long table all by herself, picking at the very good food that Tibby had made sure would be prepared. At least he knew she was eating something. The same could not be said for Master Draco, whose trays of food often came back to Tibby virtually untouched. However, the wizened little house-elf knew better than to fall for his master’s trick of rearranging the food on the plate. Young Master had done that since he was a little boy when he didn’t want to eat. The question was, why?

Hermione was feeling worried as well. At first, when Draco failed to turn up for dinner five evenings ago, she’d thought very little of it. He was probably tired; they’d been pushing themselves relentlessly, and it was bound to catch up with them at some point. However, a second day of no Draco was followed by a third, and then a fourth. Today was day number five. He was supposed to be her research partner. She’d been assigned to work _with_ him, not just under the same roof. It was frustrating, not having the slightest idea what was consuming him. She hated feeling out of the loop. And then there was the fact that he was barely eating. She knew that from simple observation and from little comments of concern that Tibby was letting slip. By this time, she felt sure that he must be a shadow of his former, more robust self. 

Whatever the reason was that he’d sequestered himself so totally, she needed to find out and soon. A lot was riding on what happened from here on, both regarding the future health and longevity of the magical forests _and_ the man she’d grown to respect, even rather like, more often than not. 

By the evening, Hermione had had quite enough, thanks. Waylaying Tibby on the stairs as he prepared to bring the dinner tray to Draco, she shook her head and held out her hands.

“It’s all right, Tibby. I’ll take it to him tonight.” She smiled, hoping it looked sufficiently reassuring. _And I’ll make him let me in and show me what he’s been doing all this time!_

Not surprisingly, Draco’s door was firmly shut when she got there. 

Her first knock was a bit tentative. “Malfoy?” and then, a moment later, “Draco!” 

The response was a muffled “Clear off.”

Undeterred, Hermione knocked again, this time more forcefully. “Open up, Malfoy! No more arsing about! Let me in! I have every right to know what in Merlin’s name you’ve been doing the past five days! It’s my project as well! Don’t make me force the door, because you know I’ll do it!”

The silence that followed seemed to last forever, and then she heard what sounded like a sigh. At last, there came the sounds of several heavy, old locks reversing their locking mechanisms, until at last, the door squeaked open an inch.

Hermione pushed on it and it swung open all the way.

The room was dark and musty, the only light from candles that burned on a massive desk and atop a tall chest of drawers. In the flickering light, she could see several very large, very old books, all of them open. The pages were brittle with age, the writing faded. Upon closer inspection, she could see that each was an ancient spell book.

“How old are these books, anyway?” she asked quietly, leaning over to get a better look at one of the pages.

From the shadows, Draco mustered a reply, barely getting the words out. “Hundreds of years, at least. That one dates back nine centuries. It’s been in my family for at least six.” 

Then he stepped into the wavering light and Hermione gasped. It quite literally looked as if he had been starving himself, so gaunt and pale did he appear. It also looked as if he hadn’t changed his clothing in days. His hair was tousled and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. His utter exhaustion was obvious. But there was a curious light in his bloodshot eyes, and his smile was both intriguing and triumphant.

With some effort, he pulled a chair closer to the desk and gestured for Hermione to sit down. Then he dropped into the other chair, suddenly a bit shaky on his legs. 

“Before you say another word, eat!” she told him firmly, though in truth, she was dying to know what incredible discoveries he’d made. “I can wait.”

At this, Draco seemed relieved and leaned closer to the desk, where Hermione had left the dinner tray. The enticing aromas of perfectly cooked beef and roasted potatoes wafted up from the tray, and for a moment, Hermione was afraid he’d fall face first into the plate, half exhausted and half famished. 

“Here, let me,” she murmured, reaching over to cut up the meat. “There. All done.”

Gratefully and with evident pleasure, he began to fork bites of beef and potatoes into his mouth, and for a while, there was no sound except for the plying of cutlery against bone china. At last, he’d polished off the entire meal. Not a morsel was left. 

Heaving a deep sigh, Draco leaned back in the chair and took a swig of the very good Pinot Noir that Tibby had included with the meal. 

“Have some, Granger,” he said, nodding in the direction of the bottle. “Plenty for both of us.”

“All right,” she conceded. “But if I do, you must tell me what’s been going on in here for almost a week.”

He poured a second glassful and handed it to her; they sipped the wine in silence for a few minutes before he sat forward at last, ready to talk. “Right,” he began, clearly subdued. “After the visit to Savernake, I didn’t believe that we had the whole story. It simply wasn’t plausible that such old forests could be killed off so quickly as a result of of exposure to man-made substances, even the worst and most toxic ones. Surely they had been exposed to such substances before now, and yet they’d survived.”

“Though for all we know, in an increasingly weakened state,” Hermione put in pointedly.

“Yes, and I did take that into account. Nevertheless, it seemed to me that something cataclysmic must have happened for the destruction to be so complete. I wondered what could do that and do it so fast. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, exactly, when I started going through these old books.”

Hermione studied him thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the glass. “Surely, though, you must’ve had something in mind, even vaguely. When you first told me about all this, you said –”

“I know, yeah,” he cut in. “A curse. Exactly what I was thinking when I started going through all these books.”

“Well? Did you find anything?” Hermione couldn’t help the impatience that was creeping into her voice. 

By way of reply, Draco pushed the large, old leather-bound book that lay open on top of the pile toward her. It slid off the table and Hermione caught it neatly in her lap, her attention immediately arrested by the antiquated writing on the pages. 

“Bathilda the Grey?” Hermione frowned, biting her lower lip as she scanned the open pages. 

“Very powerful witch who lived in these parts in the 12th century. Amongst other things, she was a seer,” he remarked. “So, not a curse, exactly… more like a prophecy. Go on then, read it.”  
  
_Hearken, all, to these words I speak,_ she read aloud. _A warning this be, a goodly prophecy. A time will come, many years hence, when the hands of men not our kind are fouled with guilty deeds and crimes against our Mother. The creatures of air, water, and land will sicken. The Earth herself will sicken. Everything that grows will likewise be poisoned. This will be the final assault. Our Mother will bear no more. The sacred trees that hold her magicks will stand, stalwart, until the end. When at last they too begin to sicken and wither from poisons in their roots, branches, and leaves, all efforts to stop the plague will be for naught. One thing only might offer remedie._  
  
“What?” Hermione sat forward eagerly, a flush of excitement colouring her cheeks. “What’s the one thing?”

“Well, that’s just it, you see. Bathilda the Grey didn’t offer that particular bit in language we can easily understand. It’s a sort of riddle. Look there,” he told her, pointing to the bottom of the second page.  
  
“The sickened tree’s embrace is fond. Beware  
When holding close a pure heart there.  
She flies so high, she has no care…  
But come too close, she does not dare.  
A lovers’ knot will her entice,  
Becomes her captor in a trice.  
Only then, the bad blood gone,  
Will the Wood be safe to gaze upon.”  
  
“I don’t understand. It seems like something’s missing.” Hermione sat back now, brows drawn together in frustration.

By way of reply, Draco offered her a hollow, weary grin. “You noticed. Yes. Well. Therein lies the rub, you see. What the hell does she mean by ‘only then, the bad blood gone’? It sounds as if –”

“It sounds as if,” Hermione cut in, picking up the thread, “the tree is literally holding a person, and then some mysterious thing happens as a result of the contact, so that the tree is somehow cured. And then, I’m assuming –”

“The whole wood is magically cured. Right.” Draco sighed. “That’s how I’m reading it as well. Fat lot of good it does us, though. I mean, what the fuck does this suggest, anyway? That we throw ourselves at affected trees randomly, having no clue which ones might be the right ones, hope the trees don’t kill us, and assuming they don’t, that we come out of it in one piece and with all our faculties intact?”

“Not to mention our body parts.” 

“Yeah. Those too,” he muttered darkly. “And is one person’s efforts enough to stop the devastation everywhere, or is the result strictly localised? This is powerful, old magic we’re talking about. Dark magic. Too much is still unknown. There must be some commentary that goes along with the prophecy. Something that explains it more clearly. That’s what we’ve got to find now. Shit, d’you know what I think?” he asked abruptly. “What’s happening is beginning to smell a lot like a very nasty curse disguised as a prophecy. Two for the price of one.” 

“Gosh, aren’t we lucky,” Hermione said to herself, topping up their glasses and taking a swallow. “Cheers!”

“Not only that,” he continued, leaning in closer to take his glass from her. “For all we know, anyone trying to break the curse or the prophecy or whatever the hell it is by following this riddle could wind up a human sacrifice.”

Horrifying but true. Suddenly, this mission she’d been recruited to help bring to a close had become a lot more dangerous than she’d ever imagined.

Nevertheless, she felt a small thrill flare up deep in her bones. 

“Right. Let’s get started. We’ve a lot to do and not a lot of time!” she announced crisply, making herself as comfortable as was possible in the stuffy room. “I’ll take this volume and you can start with that one.”

Looking up for a moment as she settled herself, Hermione caught Draco looking at her thoughtfully, a tiny, enigmatic half smile playing about his lips. In spite of herself, she could feel a blush warming her cheeks and she turned away to bury herself in the massive old spell book. 

What was that look all about? She could swear… Was that…?

When she stole another glance in his direction, she found that his gaze had returned to the research at hand. Sighing, she turned her attention to her own reading. 

Taking up his own book, he smiled again. Annoyingly take-charge and too clever by half. But pretty. Especially when she blushed.


	5. Chapter 5

Combing through the ancient tomes was both tedious and fascinating. It became obvious in fairly short order why Draco had virtually disappeared for days. As tired as Hermione became over the course of hours, the work was addicting. The urge to find an answer, something that would shed further light on the mysterious curse/prophecy, only grew stronger over time.

Early in the morning four days later, Draco lifted his head from the impromptu pillow he’d made out of his sleeve and looked groggily around the room. He was alone, but that wasn’t surprising. Granger hadn’t made a practice of sleeping with her head on the desk, after all, even though he often had. Of course, she’d returned to her own room. 

He rose from his chair, painfully stiff and bleary-eyed, his brain still foggy, and made his way to the en-suite. A hot shower would be just the ticket. 

Emerging fifteen minutes later, refreshed and alert, he dressed quickly, pulling on a dressing gown over his jeans, and made his way downstairs to the dining room, where the aromas of a delicious breakfast awaited him. No more being a hermit and living off trays. Or to be more accurate, barely living off trays and distressing his loyal house-elf no end. 

Seating himself, he nodded at Tibby, whose face broke out in a huge smile of relief that he quickly erased in favour of a more suitable expression of deference.

“Master Draco,” he said, with a small bow. “I is pleased to see you.”

“Thank you, Tibby. I am ravenous. A bit of everything, if you please.”

Tibby nodded, scurrying about the sideboard and piling a plate high with eggs, rashers, sausages, and toast. Then he stopped, plate in hand, looking quizzical.

“Miss Hermione… will she not be joining you for breakfast?” 

Frowning, Draco shrugged and shook his head. “Check her room and let her know that breakfast is served. I’m sure she’s just overslept. We have been keeping very late hours.”

With another stiff little bow, Tibby vanished up the stairs. He was back before Draco had taken three bites.

“I is most sorry, sir. Miss Hermione does not answer.”

“Did you try more than once?”

Tibby nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, sir. Many times. And I called her name too.”

“Hmm.” A small seed of worry had just taken root, but Draco quashed it. It was a scenario he did not want to entertain. “Perhaps she’s taking a walk in the gardens. Thank you, Tibby. You may go.”

He continued with his meal, though now in the company of a nagging suspicion that only grew with the passing minutes. Eventually, a final bite forced down, he threw down his napkin and strode out of the room and up the stairs.

Several decisive knocks on Hermione’s door yielded nothing but silence. Trying the knob was fruitless as well.

“Granger! Hermione!” he called, pulling his wand out of a pocket in his dressing gown. “I’m opening the door now! _Alohomora!_ ”

A glance around the bedroom was enough to tell him that, as expected, she wasn’t there. He stopped for a moment to think and abruptly, an expression of recognition, fear, and worry replaced the earlier confusion. Turning, he ran back down the hall to his own room and straight to the book Hermione had been working in.

And there it was. She’d found the commentary they’d both been searching for. Quickly he scanned it, his heart creeping up into his throat.  
  


"1909  


We find that there is much to recommend the 12th-century prophecy revealed by Bathilda the Grey," it read. "Its warnings of catastrophic human (Muggle) meddling in the natural world have certainly been proven accurate. We see the proof of this every day in the befouling of air and water from their factories. And now automobiles are becoming increasingly popular in their world. These are but two examples of Bathilda’s foresight. However, it remains unknown what will trigger this disaster as she foretold it. In addition, the remedy as stated is possibly incomplete and certainly far too obscure. 

It appears possible that in fact, she wished for the very outcome against which she warned, a disturbing and dangerous possibility. We speculate that in fact, she fashioned this ‘prophecy’ specifically as a means of punishing all of humanity for the sin of poisoning the earth. Once a certain critical point had been reached, the prophecy would become the activated curse, unleashing irreversible harm – unless the remedy she created could be correctly interpreted and successfully brought about. This may explain the reason she left the language as murky and inconclusive as we now find it. Nevertheless, we must attempt to make sense of the remedy, flawed as it is. It may be the only way we can stop the terrible destruction.

The following is the best interpretation my colleagues and I can find:

'The sickened tree’s embrace is fond. Beware  
When holding close a pure heart there.  
She flies so high, she has no care…  
But come too close, she does not dare.  
A lovers’ knot will her entice,  
Becomes her captor in a trice.  
Only then, the bad blood gone,  
Will the Wood be safe to gaze upon.'  
  
A brave and pure-hearted young witch must enter the wood and find the one tree that is at its heart. She will know which one it is. It will draw her in and speak to her in its own way. She must approach the tree, turn, and press against it firmly and without fear, from the back of her head down to her heels. The tree will embrace her, draw her in, until she and the tree become a single entity, the tree taking her life force, her health, her spark, everything that makes her human and sentient. She must not offer impediment or protest. She must willingly sacrifice herself for the life and health of the tree – of all the trees, of everything living in the wood. This one tree will stand for all. Her sacrifice, once made, will banish all blight and nullify the curse for all time, for a curse it surely is."  
  
It was signed “Theodorick Rumbolt, Department of Magical Mysteries.”

__

__

Shit. Oh shit. No.

Suddenly, Draco knew without doubt exactly where Hermione was and what she was doing. Crap, she was off being a heroine again! Still suffering from Golden Trio syndrome. Being Granger, she would believe that she could somehow beat the curse and still save the forests and everything living in them. But what if she were wrong, what if she’d miscalculated? She’d be heading off to Savernake, ready to throw herself at a likely tree and then what? _Fuck’s sake, Granger! Must you always be so damned noble?_

Throwing off his dressing gown, he pulled on a shirt and a pair of shoes and sprinted down the stairs, wand in hand and his brain in a whirl. Just outside the door, eyes squeezed shut, he focused his concentration on his chosen destination and vanished.

The ground in Savernake Wood was thick with leaves from the recent rain and gave him a soft landing. But the leaves were dead and smelt rotten. It was far too soon for the myriad little deaths that autumn would provide. It was all happening now, right in front of his eyes, but this time, it would be permanent. 

He had to find her. More to the point, he had to find her _in time_. And she could be anywhere. Savernake was huge. He began to run and then realised he could very well be running in circles and getting nowhere fast. _Think, man. Where would she have gone?_

Following the path they’d used the last time, he moved more slowly and deliberately now, scanning right and left and making sure he wasn’t overlooking anything. Twenty minutes of careful scrutiny brought him to a clearing, and a sight that chilled his very bones.

In the centre of the clearing stood that very same ancient oak they’d taken samples from before, its trunk gnarled with age and still massive despite its disease. As before, the ground all around the tree was littered with fallen branches and leaves. Those branches still on the tree had dropped very low to the ground, so that what was left of the natural canopy appeared to have closed in on itself, like a huge umbrella. Altogether, the tree appeared to have lost all its vigour and strength. It was a shell of its former self. And at its base was a young woman, held tightly in the tree’s imprisoning embrace. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep or in some sort of trance.

Horrified, Draco moved closer, only to discover that things were in fact worse than he’d realised. Not only was the tree wrapping its branches around Hermione, there was a fair section of her left leg that was now completely buried under tree bark.

_The tree was consuming her from bottom to top, an inch at a time._

“Granger! Granger, listen to me. You’ve got to listen. If you can hear me, open your eyes. Open your eyes!”

Draco’s exhortations were falling on deaf ears, or so it seemed. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath like a light whisper on his skin as she exhaled, her mouth having fallen slightly open, and he could almost feel the movement of her chest as it gently rose and fell. But her eyes remained closed, though he could see occasional movement beneath the lids. Every once in a while, a tear would slip from beneath her lashes and travel slowly down her cheek.

She’d been ensorcelled, somehow, by her contact with the tree. This was something new and quite out of Draco’s experience, and suddenly, he found himself at a complete loss. One thing was certain: the longer she was in the tree’s embrace, the more of her life force it would drain from her and the further away she would slip, until there was nothing left of her at all. Was a total sacrifice required in order to break the curse and halt the contagion? If so, he was not prepared to allow it, and to hell with Savernake and the New Forest and every bloody tree in England. Somehow, though, he suspected this wouldn’t be the case. But all this supposition was far too vague. He needed to work out a specific strategy in order to save her. And he’d have to take a big risk when the time came, whenever that was.

Feeling defeated, he sat down on the ground, raking a hand through his hair, and then pressing his fingertips to his temples, where a headache had started to throb. The trick would be to know the precise moment when separating Hermione from the tree would have given the tree what it needed to break the curse while still saving her life. How the hell would he make such a judgement? There had to be a way to measure it. There had to be visual proof. What that might turn out to be, he had no idea. But there was no time to lose.

The bark had now enveloped both of her legs, so that only her upper body remained her own, though thin branches snaked around her arms and chest, forming a sort of cage that kept her immobile. He had to do something. The time was now. He got to his feet, and, pulling out his wand, he approached Hermione, ready to try the only thing he could think of. 

“ _Emancipare!_ ,” he said loudly, with a confidence he didn’t truly feel as he touched his wand tip to a branch traversing her collar bone. “ _Emancipare_ …” And then, two much older spells he’d only ever read about in the course of his research, but they were as old as the curse itself and worth trying: “ _Resolvo! Statim liberare!”_

Focusing all his energy on the mental image of branches falling away and bark cracking open and dropping to the forest floor, he circled the tree _deosil_ (clockwise), each time touching another branch or section of bark with the tip of his wand. Around and around he walked, shouting the spells, occasionally adding the power of _Relashio!_ The shower of sparks shooting from his wand and clinging to the tree like a fiery, purple cloak made him feel better, if nothing else. At this point, as long as it didn’t hurt Hermione, he’d try anything, pull out all the stops.

It was all about intent. With the completion of each rotation around the base of the tree, he refreshed the mental image of Hermione’s release and concentrated on it anew. With each touch of his wand tip, a small section of bark or branch sizzled, charring and crumbling to the ground.

Five times around to the right, and then he reversed his direction, circling the tree _widdershins_ (anti-clockwise). He continued, doggedly weaving the counter-spells, hoping to open the tree further and loosen its grip on Hermione with every touch and pass of his wand and verbal command.

As he worked, he cast quick glances at her face. Was it his imagination or were her eyes moving more rapidly beneath their lids? Was her breathing becoming a bit more agitated? He didn’t dare stop to find out, but his own breath hitched at the thought that just maybe, what he was doing was actually working.

At last, sizable chunks of bark and tangled branches had fallen away. All that remained was to draw the wand around the outline of her body, head to toe, to make sure nothing still tied her to the tree. But would the tree regenerate itself once she was no longer feeding it with her life force, or would it wither and die? Any longer and she would have been totally consumed. He hoped he’d timed it right. The death of the sacred forestlands would be irreparable and a tragic loss.

Beginning at the top of her head and tracing her entire form with his wand, Draco murmured the spell words over and over, adding _“Sanitatum,”_ a spell for reversing illness brought on by a curse, restoring good health, and healing. At first, there was no response whatsoever. His heart in his throat, Draco moved very close, listening for a change in her breathing, hoping for a quickening of her heartbeat. Without thinking, he pressed his ear between her breasts. She was warm, and her breasts rose and fell in a gentle rhythm. And there was her scent, the scent of vanilla, mixed with the richly pungent odours of leaf mould. He breathed it in, eyes closed, and for just a moment, time slowed to a stop; nothing existed except for the wood, the girl who’d foolishly and valiantly charged off to save it, and himself, trying desperately now to save her.

“Malfoy?” Her voice was faint and thick with the after-effects of such a powerful curse.

His head was still on her chest, eyes closed. Stepping back quickly now, he stared in near disbelief. What he’d done had actually worked!

“What the hell were you thinking, you silly cow?” he burst out, barely able to contain the jubilation and relief that flooded him now. “You could have died! You very nearly did, you know!”

“Did I? I didn’t know. I’ve been dreaming…” she murmured. “I thought…”

“I know!” he cut in. “You actually thought you could break the curse and still get away before the tree swallowed you. Good job I was there to pull you out!”

“Yes, it is. Thank you, Malfoy… Draco. You saved my life.” The words were completely sincere, not a shred of irony or sarcasm. And so, too, was what he saw in her eyes. In that moment, her gaze was so intense, the expression of gratitude and affection so nakedly honest, that he had to look away. Still averting his gaze, he busied himself getting her seated comfortably on a nearby log. He’d almost just done something that would have been unimaginable only a couple of months earlier, and the realisation left him breathless.

“Best check the state of things,” he muttered, walking back to the tree. “It would be a shame if your efforts were for nothing.” 

Kneeling down at the base of the tree, he took a good look at the areas behind the spot where Hermione had stood. There was still evidence of damage and rot there, to be sure. But Draco noticed something else as well: where there had been gross breakage or decay, now the ragged edges of the bark had begun to come together, as if to realign themselves, and the complexion of the tree as a whole seemed healthier, somehow. Remaining lichens had reverted, in part, to their normal hue. It seemed almost to be happening as he watched, so swift was the healing that was already taking place in the wood. Overhead, the sky was a brilliant azure, dotted with large, white cumulus clouds. A gentle, cooling breeze, fresh and bright, had already banished the scent of sickness in the air.

Granger had done it. By the skin of her teeth, perhaps, but she’d actually succeeded.

He turned to look back at her, ready to share the good news, and found her sitting on the fallen log, looking very small and very tired, her head in her hands. Suddenly, a sickening moment of panic clutched at him. What if she’d taken the curse into herself and it would slowly eat away at her from inside? What if he’d saved her life only to watch it gradually ebb away before his eyes? What if the healing spell just hadn’t been enough?

And then she looked up at him, smiled brightly, and said, “I’m starved.”

It would be all right. She would be all right. Stifling a grin, he strode towards her and offered his arm for support. Together, they walked slowly away from the clearing and Apparated back to the Manor.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning  
  
  
The breakfast table was lively and lighthearted, a stark contrast to previous mornings. The first order of business when the meal was finished was to send an owl to the Minister, informing him that the crisis was over at last.

“We'll need confirmation from Shacklebolt that the other affected forests have begun to heal," Hermione remarked over a second cup of coffee. "Though I feel very sure we're on safe ground there."

Draco nodded. He knew intuitively that the contagion was fully over; he could _feel_ its absence and the return of health to the woodlands as surely as he could feel his own magic. 

"And of course," she continued, "Shacklebolt will need to speak to the Muggle PM as soon as possible and share what we've found regarding the full extent of the damage. The situation is far more alarming than they realise at this point. They’ll need to stop the widespread use of that herbicide straightaway, for the sake of their own woods, not only ours. And not only in England, of course. This stuff is in use all over Europe and very likely outside of Europe as well. The chemical manufacturers won’t be best pleased. But we have a moral obligation to tell the truth.” For a moment, she reflected back on the rather unique ordeal she’d experienced and smiled wryly. “Obviously, they don’t have to know _all_ the details of how we solved the case.”

“How _you_ solved the case, you mean,” Draco pointed out. 

Shaking her head, Hermione delicately wiped her mouth after a final bite of buttered scone. “No. That’s ridiculous. We worked together. In fact, it was because of _you_ that we found out about the curse at all. That was key.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true, I reckon.” He nodded. “But you found what we needed to actually end the curse. And then you risked your life, doing it.”

“I was stupid. I shouldn’t have gone off half-cocked, no backup.”

Draco gave a small snort of laughter. “No, you shouldn’t have done, and yes, you were. Stupid, I mean. Merlin, how did Potter and Weasley put up with you? Lucky for you, I can read how that oversized brain of yours works. Or else, you’d be a tree now.” 

Hermione’s eyes softened then, and she sat back in her chair, gazing at him intently. “I would, that’s true. What a strange thought.”

He leaned forward now, chin in hand. “I never got round to asking. What was it like, being part of the tree?”

After a moment’s silence, she gave him a small smile. “At first, it was very uncomfortable. Weird, really, because the tree was attaching itself to me little by little, or at least that’s how it felt. Rather like a series of small suckers sticking to me all over. And then gradually… it was more like a feeling of heaviness taking over my muscles. I couldn’t move them anymore. It started at my feet and slowly moved upwards. Well, you know that bit already.” She paused and then went on. “The really strange thing was, even though I could feel it as it was happening, somehow I was asleep through most of it. Not sleep in the usual sense, though. I was dreaming, and it was the strangest thing. It was a _true_ dream. I was inside the tree, and I felt all the life of a tree moving in and over and through me. Insects, mosses growing, birds, squirrels… Trees have their own society, you know, with elders. The one I was in was an elder, a great-grandmother. You think that trees are quiet, but really, they’re not at all. They talk to each other in their own way, truly! And they _feel._ They feel pain and fear when they’re threatened, and over the centuries, such incredible serenity and peace – as long as they’re left alone. Draco, they were terrified of what was happening! It broke my heart!”

He hadn’t even considered that possibility. But if trees were sentient beings, as Hermione was saying, then of course, that would be so, and she would have sensed it. He remembered her tears. “I had the feeling, looking at you,” he told her, “that you couldn’t wake from the trance until the tree was forced to let you go. She must have been clinging to you for dear life.”

“Yes, and I truly believe that she’d never have let me go unless someone rescued me. Thank you again. I can’t say it enough.” Smiling, she reached for his hand now, squeezing it briefly, and then paused, looking puzzled as she remembered something. “I’ve been meaning to ask… We know what would have happened if you’d pulled me away too soon. We'd have failed and the forests would have died. Luckily, your timing was perfect. But… you didn’t know that ahead of time. You couldn’t have done. So… that means you chose me over the mission. Why?”

It was true, but he was suddenly loath to admit it. “Shacklebolt would’ve killed me if I’d lost him such a valuable employee,” he joked, shrugging. 

“Seriously, Malfoy! Come on. No jokes.” 

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Draco looked down at his hands and nodded, not meeting her gaze. “Yeah, well, ‘course I’d have chosen you over a bunch of trees. Even very old, magical ones. I’m not inhuman, contrary to what you might believe.”

“I never thought you were” was the quiet reply.  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
The following morning, after a long and leisurely breakfast (Tibby would swear that both Master Draco and Miss Hermione had deliberately dawdled), they found themselves at the front door. Hermione’s purse was slung over her shoulder, her suitcase at her feet. With a wistful smile, she held out her hand.

“Goodbye, I guess… though it feels strange to say it after all this time, doesn’t it? I’ve got rather used to being here and working together,” she admitted, with a light, little laugh.

In truth, so had he, more than he could ever have imagined. The last twelve years had been mostly solitary, a self-imposed isolation he’d believed was his only real option after the war. More than anything, he'd sought an escape from the scrutiny, the harsh judgements, and the inevitably sticky entanglements that would have come. After all the disastrous choices he’d made in his life, this had seemed a safe, if lonely, one.

He took her hand, unwilling or unready to look her in the eyes. It would be strangely quiet in the Manor without her. He’d miss the discussions, perhaps the contentious ones most especially, and the companionship at meals. He’d miss her laughter, peals of it when she found something funny that nobody else on the planet would. He’d even miss her stubbornness when she couldn’t be budged from a position or an idea. And then there was that faint, elusive scent of vanilla, a calling card announcing her arrival or conversely, the afterthought once she’d left. 

“Granger, I…” he began awkwardly.

Reaching up, she laid two fingers lightly on his mouth. Then, rising on tiptoes, she kissed him. It was ever so brief, and very sweet.

“Call me,” she said, and then she was gone.

Touching the tips of his fingers to his lips, he traced the path her mouth had just taken and he smiled. Paladin was resting in the owlery. He’d get some exercise soon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks, as ever, to my very talented beta and friend, mister_otter, for your careful attention to detail and your sensitive, astute reads! 
> 
>  
> 
> Spells Draco used to free Hermione from the tree:
> 
>  
> 
>  _Emancipare_ : To free from an outside control; an unbinding spell.
> 
>  _Relashio_ : Forces an object or person to relinquish its grip.
> 
>  _Resolvo_ : Rescue!
> 
>  _Sanitatum_ : Healing!
> 
>  _Statim liberare_ : Release immediately!
> 
>  
> 
> Information about herbicide damage to trees:
> 
> https://preservationtree.com/blog/could-your-trees-be-the-victim-of-herbicide-damage
> 
> Glyphosate is a particularly nasty and destructive herbicide manufactured by Monsanto and the main ingredient in products such as Roundup. If you garden, don't use Roundup! Not only will you be endangering trees and other growing things, but Glyphosate is also absolutely deadly to bees and other essential pollinators. If it's dangerous to them, it's dangerous to us!
> 
>  
> 
> About Savernake Forest: It’s located about an hour southeast of Castle Combe in Wiltshire, where I always set Malfoy Manor. Check out the links below for more information and some truly spectacular photos!
> 
> https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/visiting-woods/wood/10868/savernake/
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savernake_Forest


End file.
